


How To Get Disowned Without Really Trying: A Guide by Owen Carvour

by deltaehm



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Craigslist, M/M, alright losers i fuckin did it. craigslist fic, i'll add tags as i go, original characters are just owen's family so don't sweat it, owen is so deep in the closet that he thinks he's outside of it, this has been sitting in my drafts since july of last year and is finally seeing the light of day, yeah i gave him siblings what about it, yeah.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22258534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltaehm/pseuds/deltaehm
Summary: There's something wonderful about introducing your partner to your family. Two parts of your life meeting for the first time, spending your time surrounded by people you love and who love you in return. A unity of important people that really shows your commitment to the relationship and your willingness to take that next step into the future.Except, well, to put it simply, Owen despises his family, and the man sitting on his right who he claims is his boyfriend is someone he only just met two nights ago.Tonight was going to be fun.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 16
Kudos: 51





	How To Get Disowned Without Really Trying: A Guide by Owen Carvour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something wonderful about introducing your partner to your family. Two parts of your life meeting for the first time, spending your time surrounded by people you love and who love you in return. A unity of important people that really shows your commitment to the relationship and your willingness to take that next step into the future.
> 
> Except, well, to put it simply, Owen despises his family, and the man sitting on his right who he claims is his boyfriend is someone he only just met two nights ago.
> 
> Tonight was going to be fun.

_Step one: get invited/forced to go to a holiday dinner with your entire extended family and be told to bring a date._

It was an early December morning when everything started to go wrong.

Owen Carvour was, among other things, a man who enjoyed routine. Woke at a certain time, got his work done at a certain time and in a certain way, managed his time meticulously with little room for surprise. Wake up, have breakfast, and take the time to prepare himself fully for the day before throwing himself into the worries of the outside world. And even then, his worries were “structured”— different anxieties being pushed aside to deal with at later times, when he knew he had the energy to deal with them.

The worry of the month? Holiday family dinner. It had been nagging at him ever since he had gotten an invitation (in the mail and everything, because God forbid his family have verbal contact with him or pull themselves out of the Stone Age), and for good reason; the Carvours were notorious for their… demeanor towards each other. Not outright violent, not usually, but cold, distant, where every other sentence was riddled with honeyed insults and the constant disapproval of people’s lives that worsened the emptier the wine bottles became. If Owen was lucky, he wouldn’t be on the receiving end of such insults, instead watching cousins and aunts hurl obscenities at each other, usually driving all parties involved to tears. It was a morbid tradition, really, and he was quite honestly surprised nobody had had the guts to poison someone’s glass these past few years.

Why he kept going wasn’t too much of a mystery. His siblings, for one, always made things interesting, especially now that their visits were fewer and farther between. And it was entertaining, at least for awhile, just as long as you stayed out of the line of fire. Besides, everyone needs a reminder every once and awhile to let them know leaving home was the right choice, right? A quick refresher, if you will.

So, here he was, sitting in his kitchen, watching snow fall steadily through halfway fogged up windows. He knew he didn’t have to be up this early, it being the weekend and everything, but there was something about starting the day early that was so ingrained into him at this point that it would be a shame to waste the day by trying to go back to sleep. His tea would be too hot to drink if he even tried, but the warmth was comforting in his hands. Cars below his apartment hummed on the street as they passed by, the city stretching in front of him waking up as well in the early morning sun. It was quiet, peaceful, the kind of morning left for introspection, a time to think and be lost in thought without worrying about the repercussions.

Well, at least, until his phone started to ring.

Now, it wasn’t that he didn’t get calls from his sister nowadays, quite the opposite really, but one this early in the morning was a bit unprecedented. It made his stomach roll with worry, and it had rung for longer than a split second, so he knew it wasn’t accidental. With a furrowed brow, he pressed accept, lifting the phone up to his ear and immediately regretting said decision when his sister’s voice came full volume through the receiver.

_“You have a boyfriend, right? Please, God, tell me you have a boyfriend.”_

“Wh—” Owen stammers, the shock hitting him like a train. If he wasn’t awake then, he surely was now. “Ophelia, _what?!_ ”

_“Mum and Dad are having another dinner, which, I'm sure you know, and they wouldn’t stop bugging me about your romantic life,”_ Ophelia’s voice comes from the phone, slightly annoyed, very frantic. _“And, well, I just couldn’t keep dodging questions, Owen! It was practically nonstop, and I— I couldn’t take any of it anymore!”_

Owen’s heart pounds in his ears, so loud he thinks even Ophelia would be able to hear it.

“‘Phelia,” Owen says, with all the restraint he could manage. “Do _not_ tell me you told our parents I was seeing someone.”

There’s a pause. A long, excruciating, heavy pause.

_“Sorry.”_

“Wh— you—! Why would you do that? Why are they asking about _me?_ You’re supposed to take the hits for me on that front!”

_“I just broke up with Nathan!”_

“God, I—” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why, why, did you tell our Mother I had a boyfriend?! I don’t even like men!”

_“Because Mum kept going on and on about how you still haven’t brought a nice girl home, so she says to me, Ophelia, you’re close to your brother, right?”_ Her voice picks up speed now as she recounts the conversation for him. _“And I said yes, but why can’t you just tell him yourself? And she says because he never picks up the phone anymore, and I say—”_

“The point, Ophelia!”

_“I’m getting there! I say, well, what did you want to ask him? And she says she wants to ask why you haven’t brought any girls home to meet her for the family dinners since you brought Sarah that one time five years ago. And I told her you weren’t going to bring a girl, because I knew you weren’t seeing anybody, which I didn’t tell her, and apparently that was the wrong thing to say because she gave me that look. You know the look.”_

“Yeah, I know the look,” Owen says, voice pained.

_“So she starts yelling at_ me _about it. Asks me why you aren’t going to bring someone home, and then starts going on about whether you’re even seeing someone at all. And, well, I just wasn’t thinking I guess, because the next thing I know I’m telling her that the reason you’re not bringing a girl back to the dinner is… because you’re bringing a boy.”_

Owen sighs. And sighs, and sighs, for so long he’s not quite sure how he didn’t run out of air. What he wants to do is tell Ophelia to clean up the mess she made herself and to leave him out of it. He wants to hang up and scream so loudly that people all the way across the Atlantic would be able to hear him. Wants to go back to bed and sleep until this whole ordeal is over. Maybe fake his own death, or... something. At this point, any option other than continuing this conversation seems reasonable; and honestly, preferable.

He doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut and his hand into a fist, feeling his nails dig into his palm and tries to appreciate the lull of silence in the conversation, however tense it may be. One last sigh for good measure opens his clenched hand and carries him into what he says next, the only option he knows is somewhat feasible.

“Look, tell Mother it was all a big misunderstanding, and I’ll deal with the collateral damage when I come over, okay?”

_“Erm, about that…”_

The simmering anger in Owen’s chest that he had only just then calmed swells as he paces the kitchen, each phrase from his sister’s end of the conversation only stoking the fire. At this rate, he would be dead at 40 from elevated blood pressure caused by this whole ordeal and the subsequent fallout afterwards, which, knowing his family, would stretch as long as they could pull it. He was already planning his gravestone: Owen Carvour (XX-XX). ‘IT WAS MY SISTER’S FAULT.’

“Who else.”

_“What?”_

“Who else did you tell.”

_“Ah, well,”_ There’s a pause, undoubtedly so she can think, and Owen feels slightly vindicated in the fact that he’s caught her off guard. It isn’t enough to balance out everything else, but it is nice, he’ll admit. _“Dad knows, and the twins, because they were in the room when I said it. And Gran knows—”_

“Alice or Vera?”

_“Vera,”_ Ophelia says, and Owen sighs in relief. _“That was my reaction! But, yeah, Mum called her straight after. So by extension probably Grandad, and… um... maybe the cousins. But only maybe, and—”_

Owen pulls the phone away from his face and sets it down, taking a moment to stare up at the ceiling. It was much too early for this, he thinks absentmindedly, and sighs, again, before picking the phone back up off the counter.

_“—wen? Owen? Hellooo, you there?”_

“Yes.”

_“Please don’t be mad,”_ she sounds genuinely sorry, and somehow, Owen knows she means it. _“I know it was a bad move, but maybe you’ll be motivated to actually start seeing someone now instead of working yourself into a ditch all the time!”_

“You’re not helping the whole ‘me not being mad at you’ thing, Ophelia.”

_“Hey! I’m just saying. It wouldn’t kill you to put yourself out there every once in awhile.”_

“And _I’m_ hanging up.”

_“Waitwaitwait! Wait, don’t, don’t hang up. Listen. I have an idea, hear me out, okay? Why don’t you just… get someone to pretend to be your boyfriend? Just for the night?”_

“Good _bye_ , Ophelia.”

_“WAI—”_

_Click._

Quiet, again. Finally. With a groan, Owen places his phone on the counter, scrubbing his face with his hands. Leave it to one of his siblings to pull something like this.

It’s not like he can blame her all that harshly— well, of course he _can_ , and for a good half hour, he does, even though he knows he shouldn’t. She’s not the one at fault here; if anyone is, it’s him and his terrible love life. It’s not that he isn’t trying, really, it’s just that he’s been in a bit of a lull. That’s all. And, what with moving and jobs and university, time has been more than a bit of a problem. He’s perfectly happy alone, especially here, in his apartment, while the snow comes down like something out of a fairytale. But he knows his family is tired of hearing excuses, and the conversation was going to happen eventually. All things considered, it might not be so bad this way. Then again, it might be a complete total disaster. After much internal debate, Owen elects that it is too early to think about this sort of thing, and, with his mug of tea in hand, pads through his apartment and begins checking off his to-do list.

As he goes about his day, his sister’s words rattle around in his head. Distracting him while cleaning and running errands, always present in the back of his mind as much as he tries to will them away. To watch the thoughts swirl in the air like an exhale and disappear into the cold sky above would be a grace he can’t seem to grant himself. Find someone to be his boyfriend for the day. It’s really... not a bad idea. That shouldn’t be impossible, right? There really was no way of avoiding the situation— at least, no good way— but if there was one thing Owen prided himself on, it was that he was crafty. Adaptable. Worked well under pressure. He would figure this out, circumstances be damned. But where does one find a fake boyfriend?

Owen mulls over his options. Any close friends are pretty much out of the question on account of his relatives already knowing them. He could always contact an acquaintance, tell them the situation, and it would be a good way to get closer but he’s not sure he wants to expose too many unsuspecting and unfamiliar people to his family, either. Dating apps are an option, of course, but Owen isn’t too fond of the idea. Tinder was a mess when he tried to use it, anyway, and any alternative would just be a hassle to deal with. There was no guarantee he’d even find what he was looking for without collecting more than a handful of wrong ideas and implications. One thing was for sure, though: he was going to have to bring a complete stranger to this party or coincidentally become gravely ill in the span of about a week.

It would have to be one or the other.

On a whim, that evening, he opens his computer again, drumming his hands on his lap. This whole ordeal was turning out to be a wonderful, seemingly endless spiral of easier said than done. After a moment of sitting there, he began to type, hoping whatever results came in response were ones he was looking for. It took a bit of scrolling past years old articles and a few more keywords before he found something that looked recent— and promising. “Embarrassing Holiday Dinner Boyfriend-for-Hire”. Throwing whatever pride he had left out the window, he clicked the link, scanning the page.

  


> “It’s the holiday season! Want to skip that long, insulting conversation about how you’re still single and spending the holidays alone? About how your parents really want grandchildren? Well, look no further!
> 
> I am a 27 year old guy who has had my fair share of bad dates, and a dirty old van one year younger than me with possibly the worst spray paint job on it anyone has ever seen. Can play anywhere from 22 to 28 and anyone from sweet and kind to absolute terror depending on if I shave or not. I’m currently studying abroad for school and work doing maintenance jobs. If you’d like me to be your strictly platonic date to any family holiday event, but have me pretend to be in a very long a serious relationship with you in order to torture your family, I’m game.
> 
> I can do these things, at your request:  
>  \- openly hit on other guests while you pretend not to notice  
>  \- start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion  
>  \- pretend to be really, really drunk as the night goes on (I don’t drink much anymore, but I used to. Probably too much. I know the drill)  
>  \- propose to you in front of everyone  
>  \- start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all to see  
>  I don’t need any pay other than the free meal provided by your family I will receive as a guest!
> 
> Guys and girls feel free to contact me.”  
> 

Well. That’s awfully convenient. 

At the bottom of the ad, there’s a name along with a phone number and an email, and Owen finds himself breaking into a smile. The post is recent enough and fits everything he needs almost too perfectly. After a moment’s thought, he pulls out his phone from his pocket and, with bated breath, types the number listed into his phone and begins to type. For some reason, he hesitates before pressing send, It’s just one night. Hell, what has he got to lose?

 **You**  
Hi, is this Curt Mega? My name’s Owen and I saw your ad. Are you still available? I need someone to help me get kicked out of every family dinner for the foreseeable future.

Expectedly, at first, there’s nothing, but the text has been sent. He hopes whoever this is responds, that he really will be able to successful in driving his family crazy enough that they’ll finally leave him alone. Owen sits back in his chair, letting out a breath he had forgotten he was holding, eyes scanning the ceiling as he waits. He’s not sure how long he studies the texture of the paint before his phone buzzes beside him, scooping with maybe a bit too much enthusiasm, grinning as he reads the response.

 **Maybe: Curt**  
Hi, Owen! Yeah, this is Curt. So, on a scale of mildly angry to fully disowned, how kicked out are we talking here?

**Author's Note:**

> is this self indulgent? yep. is the characterization off? most certainly. do i really care all that much? not at all.
> 
> couple things!  
> \- i left the holiday that the "family holiday dinner" is meant to officially celebrate ambiguous just because i know theres a lot of people who like to headcanon one way or another. its just a family reunion type thing  
> \- i also left the year completely up to the reader, but it's supposed to be vague 2000's/2010's. however, because there really isn't a set date other than during december, feel free to read this like it's set in ye olden times. its kinda funny that way.
> 
> big big big thank you to dino who brought this fic up to me, which immediately caused me to go "oh, shit, that's right, i'm writing that!" and also for being just generally the coolest ever. please let me know what you think and thank you a million for reading!! :~)


End file.
